


Blueming

by Yellowblitzever



Series: I'm your goth [1]
Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Bullying, Getting to Know Each Other, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Love Confessions, M/M, Not Beta Read, Out of Character, Prequel, Requested fanfiction, Swearing, part of a series but can be read alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:26:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25252333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yellowblitzever/pseuds/Yellowblitzever
Summary: Slowly, Firkle began to view Ike as a friend and not as a threat. Slowly, Firkle began to develop a nervousness within his stomach whenever Ike strayed too close. Slowly, Firkle began to miss the raven haired teen whenever they were to part, even if it was just for a moment.Slowly, Firkle Smith began to fall for Ike Broflovski.
Relationships: Ike Broflovski/Firkle Smith
Series: I'm your goth [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1829437
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	Blueming

**Author's Note:**

> This was requested by manager_bri on Wattpad who asked for a Fike fic about these two cinnamon rolls getting together whilst having a bit a jealous mentioned/added in (tried to achieve that in the form of the goth kids)
> 
> This can be read with the You're my goth fic or on its own. Once again, the title is based off a song - Blueming by IU.
> 
> I don't own any of the characters (although Colter is just a random name I threw in).

Firkle watched as his tormentors dissappeared from sight. The first day of school was finally over, now all the young goth had to do was endure the next four days of torture.

Slowly, Firkle picked himself off of the floor. He dusted his clothes and wiped the blood from his lips. The raven haired teen sighed and salvaged whatever was left of his school work, stuffing the charred papers back into his rucksack. He made a mental note to stop putting his lighter in his bag. Firkle cared very little for his school work, it wasn't as if he'd actually do it and his parents certainly wouldn't care either as they were too busy yelling at each other. He was just thankful that Colter had spared his school bag.

Firkle sulked as he crawled home. His parents would still be at their shit paying jobs (his mother being a newspaper editor and his dad worked in the tiniest cubical imaginable at some sort of buisness office) and wouldn't return till six. That gave Firkle plenty of time to mope around in his room, writing depressingly dark poems and listen to Evanescence or My Chemical Romance.

The goth sneaked himself into the house out of habit. As soon as he entered his bedroom, he threw himself down onto his bed. Firkle raised his hands to cover his face and groaned. One day down. Only another four to go.

He really wanted a cigarette right about now. Too bad Colter stole what he had left.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Firkle slammed his locker shut. The sound of the other students laughing irritated him. He could hear the pair of girls beside him cooing over a boy. Firkle didn't bother to find out who they were on about. He stormed down the halls and disappeared through the school's emergency exit door. Thankfully, the annoying screeches and cackles coming from the other students couldn't be heard round the back of the school.

Firkle sat in his usual spot in front of the unused shutter. The goth pulled his rucksack from his shoulders and laid it down behind him. Firkle leaned back till his head rested on the bag. One of his legs came up to rest upon the other whilst his hands intertwined over his stomach. With his eyes closed, Firkle began to enjoy the peace and quiet. The only thing missing was a cigarette. If the goth had time, he'd buy a pack on his way home. At least he was alone and undisturbed by all the conformists inside the school.

_**Creak** _

Or so he thought.

"If you fall asleep there, you'll end up missing class."

Firkle opened one eye. To his right, leaning slightly over the railing on the wheelchair rap, stood none other that Ike Broflovski. Firkle sighed and scrunched his eyes tightly shut. The last the he wanted right now was a damn conformist disturbing him, especially Ike bloody Broflovski! Firkle couldn't stand smart-asses like him! Just because he's better than everyone doesn't mean he can just show off about it! He honestly doesn't understand why all the girls (and even some of the boys) in school flock around the Canadian! He has an annoying accent, constantly sucks up to all the teachers, has a bitch of a mother, and is a part of the school's football team! 

In Firkle's book, Ike Broflovski is the biggest conformist of them all.

"Piss off Conformist. You want a conversation, go chat up one of the sluts that follow you around."

Firkle was sure his hostile tone would cause the Canadian to walk away. He half expected an insult to be hurled his way.

However, Ike stayed.

"Woah, easy there, guy, I'm just trying to be friendly."

Firkle hated those stupid nicknames Ike used! Everyone was either his Pal, buddy, friend or guy. 

"Don't call me 'guy'." Firkle snapped. Ike laughed. "How about I call you 'friend', eh?"

"Fuck off."

Finally, Ike took the message and left. Firkle sat up and glared at the door Ike had walked through. Just who did he think he was, insulting him like that! Firkle scrunched his brows. He could just imagine how smug the Canadian's face must have been upon realising he'd angered the goth. 

Satan all mighty did he hate this damned school and all of its damned conformists!

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Firkle laid across one of the wooden benches. The PE teacher had threatened to send him to the principle for not joining in with the lesson, but he didn't care. He'd rather die then put on a PE kit and join in with this exasperating lesson! The sooner it's over, the better.

"Ok everyone!" The teacher called, football tooled under his arm. "I need you to get into a pair so we can practice your tackling skills."

Firkle rolled his eyes. Football was the worst sport ever invented! All you do is chase a ball across the field whilst the other team try to take out your ankles!

The slight pitter patter of shoes against sprung wooden flooring was as painful to listen to as nails scraping a Chalk board. So when the sound grew louder and closer, Firkle glunched.

"Ay friend, wanna team up?"

Of course it was Ike Broflovski that had the nerves to disrupt his brooding!

"No." Firkle continued to stare at the ceiling. He paid no attention the Canadian, silently hoping he'd get the message and move on.

But Ike didn't budge. He had a football in his hands and wore the brightest smile Firkle had ever seen. It was disgusting to look at.

"Come on, friend, everyone else is already in a pair."

"I'm not your friend! Go join a pair and make a trio." Firkle was seriously starting to become irritated by the Canadian. Why couldn't he seems to get the hint?

Firkle pretended he didn't see how dejected Ike looked when he finally left. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Thursday was almost over. Firkle sat in his final lesson of the day, science. Instead of listening to his teacher, he silently sketched away in his notebook. Usually when you glance through a student's workbook you'll see all of their notes from their lessons. However, Firkle's was filled with drawings of people, crows, demons, pentagrams, and his personal favourite, graveyards. 

The goth had lost count of how many times he'd been sent to the principles office for doodling a tombstone detailing the demise of one of his classmates or teachers. Currently, he was doing just that.

_Sally Turner_  
_1984-2020_  
_Died from mixing her meds with alcohol._  
_Won't be missed for she's a stuck up bitch._

Firkle smirked. He knew he'd be sent to the principle again and that he'd probably have to write out the sentence "I'm sorry" a hundred times. That wouldn't stop him. Firkle wondered if the school would ever learn that he won't change no matter how many detentions they give him. He prayed that one day the school would just expel him for good.

Eventually, Firkle grew bored of drawing his classmates' tombstones and moved on to drawing a person. Like all his previous works of arts when it came to people, they were suffering is some way. Sometimes he'd draw a child left by themselves. Sometimes it would be of a dead body. Sometimes they'd simply be crying. The goth decided to focus on the latter. Who knows, if it was actually decent, he could pass it off as art homework.

What Firkle wasn't aware of, was the curious pair of eyes watching him draw a random woman with tears streaming down her face. As Firkle began to darken the woman's cheeks, Ike hummed in amazement. "You're really good at that." He whispered. Firkle jumped slightly and dropped his pencil. His arms flailed over his drawing as he turned to look over his shoulder. Ike smiled cheerfully and offered a friendly wave. Firkle scoffed and retrieved his pencil off of the ground.

The goth stared down at the half finished picture. He could always finish it at home where no one would see it or-

"Who is she?"

Firkle pulled a face and ripped the page from his book. "No one." He muttered and scrunched the picture into a ball. The goth made sure to drop it into the classroom's bin on his way out.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

During lunch, Firkle stepped into the boys bathroom to avoid the chaotic halls. As he waited for everyone to scatter to the lunch hall, the goth found himself checking his make-up in the mirror. Just as Firkle was about to leave the bathroom, Colter and his gang entered. Firkle froze like a deer in headlights. This wasn't going to end well.

Colter noticed him first. He smiled maliciously at Firkle before cracking knuckles. "Well, well, well. What do we have here?" Firkle tried to walk around the trio. However, Colter grabbed his arm. Firkle tensed as nails began to dig into his pale skin. "Not so fast, freakshow. How about we have some fun first."

What happened next was a blur. It ended with Firkle having his head dunked down a toilet (thankfully one that was unused) several times. Each time, Firkle panicked that Colter was going to hold him down until he drowned. After several deep gasps for air and a mouth full of toilet water, Colter threw Firkle to the ground. The tip of Colter's well used trainer impacted with his stomach. Firkle was forced to up chuck the little air he had within his system. The goth tried curling into himself to avoid the blows, but ultimately it did very little to protect him. Before Colter left, he spat at Firkle who laid on the floor, clutching his stomach and gasping for air. 

"Remember this, Fuckle. You're only alive because I allowed it."

Firkle groaned from pain but refused to cry. Eyeliner streaked down his face, creating smears of false, black tears, and his lipstick had been washed away by the repulsive water. Firkle clutched his stomach and gritted his teeth. He needed to leave before someone found him here. He needed to-

_**Squeak** _

That was the door!

Colter had returned! Firkle was sure of it!

The goth scrunched his eyes tight and braced himself for the worst.

But it didn't happen. No one tried to harm him. Instead, Firkle felt a tender hand rest on his shoulder, turning him onto his back.

"Firkle! What happened? Are you ok?"

That voice! Firkle would recognise it anywhere. He had once deemed that voice as annoying, now it sounded like a hopeful melody.

With Ike's help, Firkle managed to stay on his feet. The Canadian guided him to the sink and rather easily picked up the goth, sitting him on the countertop. Firkle kept one arm secured around his stomach, a quiet voice in the back of his head didn't trust Ike.

Ike grabbed as much blue roll as he could and began to dry the goth's face. Once his entire face was dry, Ike paused. Firkle stared at confusion. For some reason, Ike was staring at him with this weird twinkle in his eyes : his mouth hung slightly agape.

"Woah," Ike breathed. "You're pretty without any make-up on."

Firkle tensed. What did he just say? Pretty? Pretty! He is not pretty! He's a servant of darkness, not a Disney Princess! He's meant to be mysterious and esoteric! Not pretty!

"W-whatever." Firkle muttered. He tried his best to ignore the very obvious blush that had crept to his cheeks.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Two months had passed since that day. Since then, Ike and Firkle were inseparable. Ike would always wait for Firkle in the mornings behind the school, as well as round the front of the building once school had finished, they would always walk home together, stop by at each other's houses to complete homework, and suprisingly, Ike had managed to persuade Firkle to at least attempted his school work instead of just drawing all lesson.

Currently, he was at Ike's house. His parents were currently out of town and would be back for another two days. Ike had invited him round so they could complete their homework assignments together. However, the young goth was staring at his phone with horror. Eight miss calls from Pete. 

Uh oh.

Ike entered the room with a cup in either hand. "We've only got summer squash. Hopes that's ok." Firkle nodded and accepted a cup. As he brought it to his lips, his free hand pulled up his jacket that had begun to reveal his bare shoulder. Although he loved wearing jumpers and hoodies that were a size too big, it was annoying to constantly have to pull them back into place. Ike placed his drink on his bedside table and clamoured onto the bed. Firkle lent forwards slightly as the mattress bounced. He waited for it to have stopped moving before leaning back against it. Firkle continued to hold the cup within his hand whilst the other unlocked his phone. As if on cue, his phone buzzed. 

**Michael:** _we need to talk. Meet us at Benny's. Now._

Firkle sighed. He stared at the message for a minute before texting that he'd be there. He quickly downed the rest of the juice before standing up. Ike raised a brow and he watched as Firkle pocket his phone. "What's going on?"

"I...I need to go. I'll text you later." 

The walk to Benny's seemed longer than what it actually was. An uneasy feeling played with his gut. Surely there was some sort of urgency behind the text Michael had sent him, or else he wouldn't have ended it with "now". At the same time, Firkle was aware that his friends were meant to be spending the day at Henrietta's. Originally, Firkle was going to join them, but he'd changed his mind a few days ago when Ike invited him to hang out.

As soon as Firkle entered the diner, he immediately spotted his friends squashed around their usual table. They were all brooding over steaming cups of coffee. Firkle sat on the end next to Henrietta. "What's up?" He asked, trying his best not to sound nervous. Pete flipped his hair out of his eyes. Both he and Henrietta were starting at Michael. The eldest goth sighed.

"Firkle, what's going on?"

"Huh?"

"If you don't want to be one of the goth kids anymore, just say so already."

Firkle stared at Michael, his mouth hung agape. "What are you on about?"

"Listen," Pete began. "You've been blowing us off for two months now with no explanation. You keep ditching us which has led to the conclusion that you don't want to be part of the group anymore."

"That's not it at all!" Firkle exclaimed.

"Then what is it?" Henrietta asked as she took a sip of her coffee.

Firkle began to fiddle with the hem of his jacket. "It's...it's nothing, ok? I still want to be part of this group."

"Firkle, we're your friends. Surely we have a right to know, even if it's not the full story." Henrietta placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Firkle sighed and rested his head on the table. "I've just been...talking...to someone..."

The other goths stared at each other, then at Firkle and then back at each other. "Someone at school? Is it another goth?" Firkle shook his head causing Michael frown. "A conformist? Really Firkle? I thought you hated conformists more than anyone."

"He's different though. Yes, he's a conformist, but he's not a douche like all the other conformists. He...actually cares...about me. It's weird."

"Sounds it. Conformist usually don't give two shits about us." Pete murmured.

"Exactly!" Firkle exclaimed, raising his head from the table at break-neck speed. Henrietta called out to a waitress that happened to be passing by their table. "Hey, can we get another cup of coffee?" The waitress rolled her eyes. "I thought I told you lot to order something an hour ago! Stop coming in here if you're just going to brood over your problems and drink all our coffee!" 

As the stressed and annoyed waitress walked away, Michael flipped her the bird. A few minutes later, the waiter returned with a fresh, steaming cup of coffee. She practically slammed it down onto the table and walked away. Firkle took a sip. "Damn cranky-ass, conformist bitch."

"Yeah."

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Eventually, Two months with Ike became three, then four, and within a blink of an eye, nine months had passed since that fateful day. Firkle found his friendship with Ike to be an odd one. For starters, Ike had stayed by his side, never once judging or betraying him. The Canadian did his best to get along with Firkle's other friends (who were jealous and thought Ike might steal away the group's youngest member) as well as educate himself in gothic culture without Firkle asking him to. Ike always considered Firkle's opinions over others. But to Firkle, the strangest thing about their friendship is they way Ike would physically interact with him.

The Canadian was constantly leaning over Firkle's shoulders or wrapping one of his arms over him, or he would stand and sit way too close to Firkle. The goth swore he'd felt Ike's fingers brush against his once or twice. On top of that, Ike rarely took his eyes off of Firkle. There were plenty of times where Firkle would notice Ike staring at him, but the stares he'd get from the taller teen were filled with awe and respect. Weirdly enough, Firkle rather enjoyed the stares. Usually, he hates being looked at, as well as being the centre of attention, but with Ike he feels safe, like the world had paused to allow them this minute moment.

Firkle had also noticed that with ever passing month, his feeling towards Ike had changed. At first he was hesitate to allow the Canadian in, but Ike quickly managed to tear down his walls. As they became friends, the goth noticed that he'd partake in things he'd normally never do. For example, he'd show up to school, do his homework, and even watch Ike play in one the school's footfall matches!

Slowly, Firkle began to view Ike as a friend and not as a threat. Slowly, Firkle began to develop a nervousness within his stomach whenever Ike strayed too close. Slowly, Firkle began to miss the raven haired teen whenever they were to part, even if it was just for a moment. 

Slowly, Firkle Smith began to fall for Ike Broflovski.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Firkle stood in front of the Broflovski residence. He had a fist raised but hesitated to knock on the door. Why was he suddenly so nervous? He'd been going to Ike's house to study for months now, it's not like this was something new! So why was he so anxious? Perhaps it was because of the exam they were studying for? Maybe it was because he'd once again skipped out on the other goths kids to spend the day with Ike? Or maybe it was how their last encounter went?

_Ike jogged over to where Firkle stood in the stands. To the surprise of no one, South park had won the football match 4-0. The other team left the pitch with their heads hung low. A faint, almost unnoticeable, smile decorated Firkle's face as Ike approached. Originally, Firkle was going to spend the night with Henrietta, but Ike had insisted that Firkle had to watch him play this ridiculously boring game. Firkle would never admit it, but he was weak for Ike's puppy eyes._

_"So," Ike smiled proudly. "What did you think?"_

_You led your team to victory, well done."_

_Ike rolled his eyes. He stood on his tip toes and leaned up towards Firkle. The goth reciprocated by leaning over the railing that separated them. Ike swallowed hard. "Kept reminding myself you were watching. Say, do I get a reward for winning?"_

_Firkle felt his face flush. Ike was so close now that the goth could feel his breath on his face. "What reward?" Firkle stammered. He tried adverting his eyes, too embarrassed to gaze into Ike's eyes. Without hesitating, Ike leaned ever closer, their lips were inches from each other as their noses brushed against each other. Firkle froze. He waited with anticipation as Ike began to raise and hand to his face and-_

_"Ike! Hurry up! We're all waiting for you!"_

_Quickly, Ike retreated. They shared a quick glance before both sets of eyes fell to the ground. Ike's mouth moved like a fish as he tried to force the words from his throat. Instead, Ike ran off and disappeared inside the male changing room._

_Later that night, Firkle received a text from Ike. The Canadian apologised for his actions and asked if they were still going to meet up at his house in two days. Of course Firkle forgave him. The goth knew deep down that he could never be upset with Ike, especially when nothing had happened between the two of them._

Firkle inhaled deeply and knocked on the front door. Within seconds, Ike opened the door and ushered him in.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

After a few five of studying for the test, Firkle huffed. It was getting late and his parents would start to notice his disappearance (he hadn't actually told them he was at Ike's because he was grounded for calling the PE teacher a 'Nazi conformist cheerleader' which led to, yet another, detention).

However, right as Firkle was about to leave, the heavens opened. Rain battered the streets and was soon followed by thunder. Firkle froze upon hearing the booming crash. He let out a high pitched shrill. Ike was immediately by his side. The Canadian yanked a blanket off of his bed and over it around the frightened goth. 

"Firkle," Ike hushed and sat him down on the ground. "It's just thunder-"

"I know that!" Firkle snapped before flinching at another clash of thunder.

Ike moved to his TV and turned it on. Afterwards, he grabbed the first film he could find and began playing it. Luckily, it was Pet Cemetery. Firkle visibly relaxed upon noticing the film. He'd always been a fan of Stephen King's horror books and particularly liked Pet Cemetery the best. It was probably because it involved bring the dead back to life and an old cemetery.

Ike sat beside the goth. Half way through the film, Firkle had unknowingly started using Ike as a headrest. It wasn't until about ten minutes later that Firkle had even noticed Ike had been staring at him. He removed his head from Ike's shoulder to stare back. "What?" Firkle asked, burrowing his brows when Ike rose a hand to cup his face. "Is there something on my face?" Without answering him, Ike slowly lent forwards and captured his lips.

The first thing Firkle noticed is the texture of Ike's lips. They were chapped and yet the kiss felt tender and gentle. Ike's hand held his face lovingly, cradling Firkle as though he was made of glass. Ike didn't force himself onto Firkle and instead drew away upon noticing that Firkle hadn't reciprocated. It wasn't until all the warmth had seeped from his lips that he had noticed Ike had pulled away.

Instantly, Firkle grabbed a hold of his cheeks and pulled him forwards, crashing their lips back together. Ike's spare hand pushed down on Firkle's chest, sending the goth to the floor. Firkle's arms moved slowly to cup around Ike's nape. Ike took his arm from Firkle's chest and placed it above his head, further leading over the goth. The two parted for air, both of them panting wildly. Firkle's thumbs rubbed against Ike's nape as he regained his breath. Ike gazed into Firkle's eyes, trying to read their emotion. 

"So," Firkle panted. "What are we?"

"Whatever you want us to be." Ike smiled and stroked his cheek. Firkle leant upwards for another kiss. Neither of the teens cared about the movie playing in the background, or that the storm had passed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for sticking around and reading this fic. I apologise for the lack of quality/laziness towards the end.
> 
> If you noticed anything wrong/any errors, please let me know. 
> 
> Thank you :)


End file.
